Locked Up II
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: Unhinged. Ben Wyatt. Who knew? Post-Eagleton. Ben/Leslie


It would be a lie to say that he had slept well. Ben didn't sleep at all, was more the truth. Actually, that was all of it. Not a wink, there was tossing and turning for about ten minutes and then a few hours of furious pacing.

Leslie was in jail. _Jail_! And okay, it wasn't like Eagleton was Rikers, but it was still jail. She was still locked up, in prison. Not prison, _jail_, he had to remind himself every damned time he thought about it. Leslie Knope, fighting for what she believed and then, well, literally fighting.

And getting tossed in the slammer.

She had actually punched someone in the _face_. Ben hadn't even done that, and he was a _guy_. Guys were supposed to get into fistfights, not smartly-dressed, government-employed women. The way she'd thrown herself at Lindsay was _terrifying_; he wasn't aware that she was capable of such... physical rage.

Which had been slightly, well, hot, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Leslie was in jail and it was affecting him entirely too negatively. Ben found himself nibbling his nails, turning on SportsCenter and _ignoring_ it, showering, twice, and calling everyone he knew in Pawnee city government and beyond _for the second time that day_, trying to free her.

Pawnee city lockup, jesus. Again, not Rikers, not San Quentin, just a simple county jail, but regardless, Ben was going out of his mind. Blowing the situation exponentially out of proportion.

After Leslie had been arrested under supreme dissension from her Parks Department staff, Ben had snapped. Quite literally, gone off of his rocker. "What the _hell_, man? What the hell was that?"

He'd even raised his hand as if to slap the man, not as masculine as he would have liked, but it was what had come naturally. He'd managed to curl his fingers into a fist and drop it at his side. Instead, Ben beat his own leg in time with his words, "That's like her arch nemesis. Do you have any... any..."

Everyone's eyes had been wide; Jerry had hid behind the truck when Ben had began to raise his voice. "Leslie is a good person," his voice had dropped then, and he'd pointed a finger directly in the center of Tom's chest. "And she didn't... deserve that."

Looking to all the world like a puppy that had been kicked, Tom began stuttering out apologies, but Ben wouldn't hear them. "No man, just... just no."

He'd stormed off rather effectively, until he realized that April had driven them to the park and had to storm back. But he'd made a pretty good scene of that, too.

He'd separated from the group when they'd got back to City Hall, assurances from the staff that they would do all they could to fix "this situation" following him back to his office. Ben didn't think it would do much good; if the Chief of Police wouldn't budge, he was fairly certain there was nothing he could do.

That didn't stop him from getting on the wire to each and every person that owed him a favor (which really, was a very, very short list). There was some begging, a touch of pleading, a few choice expletives that he probably shouldn't have uttered to some of the people he'd spoken with, but... that's how unhinged he was.

Unhinged, Ben Wyatt. Who knew?

And then, there was the sleeplessness. There were two hours when he got home where he wondered if he could just go down to the precinct and bail her out. Or if that would mean something. Or if people would think that his actions meant something. Or if he should just throw caution to the wind and _go and save her_.

There was a tumbler of pretty good whiskey and a buzz on from said good whiskey, during which he had picked up the phone to call Ann of all people, to get her advice. He'd never dialed; even slightly intoxicated, it had felt like a bad idea.

His body refused to remain still, pacing to the bathroom and back to his bedroom. April and Andy kept to themselves, but watched him come and go, in and out, in and out. He swore he'd heard April on the phone with Leslie's mother, trying to figure out if there was anything she could do. Andy did his part and kept his glass full and said things like, "Leslie's got so much fight in her," and "Can you imagine her in jail? Chick on chick action? And not like, the fighting earlier but the... nevermind..."

Ben had even once managed to shrug into his jacket, so sure that he was going to tear ass over to Pawnee's jail and give _her_ a piece of his mind before tearing ass over to Eagleton and doing... something really effective and drastic and _helpful_.

It did, of course, occur to him that Leslie wasn't exactly the type of person that needed saving. She didn't need saving at all. That didn't mean, however, that he didn't _want_ to save her, didn't want to rush in on a white steed (or really any steed would do) demanding her release.

...besides, he didn't know how to ride horses, so that point was fairly moot.

At six o'clock the following morning, he showered and found a shirt that wasn't _too_ wrinkled and tucked it mostly into his pants and got to City Hall in fifteen minutes. And he only ran two red lights, so, bonus.

The halls were quiet, too quiet, like they were mocking him, mocking all of them, everyone who stood behind her (even if they were present, the halls were _so_ mocking _all_of them) and so he left and walked three blocks to the nearest coffee shop, shotgunning a small black coffee before he allowed himself to return.

When he got back to his office, there was a small, yellow Post-It on his desk. It read, "I'm handling this. I know you probably want to help, but I'm handling this." There was a pretty bright-looking smiley face just above her squiggle-signature, 'Ann.'

Ben thought for a moment about what that implied, that Ann had taken the time to stop by the office in hopes of quelling his fears. But as quickly as the thought came, it vanished. If Ann knew that Ben cared about her, then... Ann knew. There was no bubble of fear at the thought of someone knowing (someone besides _Andy_, anyway) that he cared for Leslie.

That was just... how things were.

Ben toyed with the idea of sending Ann a quick text, noting to himself that yes, Leslie had somehow gotten her hands on his phone and _added_Ann to his contacts, but thought better of it. Best to let things be, let them run their course.

By eleven o'clock the next morning, Ann arrived, her best friend in tow, a little ruffled around the edges, but no worse for the wear.

It didn't come as a surprise to him that when Ann heard about Leslie being arrested, that she'd been just as ready to mobilize as he had. And it didn't come as a surprise that upon her return, Leslie had a plan. She'd even managed to scribble out a fifteen-point strategy plan on five separate tissues on the car ride back to City Hall. With graphs. In three different colors of ink.

Impressive.

What was more impressive was her staff mobilized underneath her, even Tom, who took a tissue from her with an apology in his eyes, getting on his cell with his friend over at the sporting goods store.

And it hit Ben, right in the chest, hard, like a hanging fastball right to his sternum. Leslie was _amazing_. Not that he didn't know that she was amazing previous to her arrest, but she was an enigma. Selfless and passionate and... and _amazing_. The actual essence of the word. It sometimes hurt to look at her because she was so brilliant.

She was probably the very best person that Ben Wyatt had ever met in his entire life. And Ben had once met Cal Ripken, so that was something.

Andy had managed to wheedle his friends in Animal Control to help him mark out a field by acquiring the rickety field equipment from the high school. They'd had a diamond outlined in no time, and Leslie had convinced the pop warner league to donate four of their older, portable benches.

Donna had gotten in touch with Sweetums and had convinced them to fund the scoreboard, in return for free advertising at any Parks Department event for the next five years. Not that they _needed _any more publicity.

Next, Leslie had talked the middle-school principle into detailing the students that were supposed to be in detention that afternoon to fence painting duty, and the ice cream truck and lemonade vendor had shown up on their own, ready to be wherever they could make a quick buck.

And like that, in a matter of hours, the Pawnee Parks Department had assembled a rag-tag wiffleball league.

Just the thought of the community coming together, mobilizing so readily tightened Ben's throat and pricked at his eyes. Well, it could have been the lack of sleep for two days pricking at his eyes, but even if it was, he was blaming it on emotion.

He was becoming emotional... over Pawnee, a city he had so readily dismissed a few months ago as just another town, another budget to slash. Ben sighed and dusted off his hands on the knees of his pants, watched as Leslie finished chatting with Lindsay and made his way slowly over towards her.

The late afternoon sun was warm on his back as he walked, and he took a moment to breathe in the clean air,

When she caught sight of him, she gave a small wave, but a huge smile. Ben realized that in that moment, it was the best he'd ever felt in his entire life.

"You did this in twenty hours, Leslie," his voice was bright and full of color and wonder and he didn't know what else to say. She'd created an entire wiffle ball league, complete with equipment and spectators and concessions. Who _did _that? Who had the capability to do that? "Twenty hours. I think the only thing I've made happen in twenty hours was a term paper that I got a B minus on-Leslie this is..."

"Pretty cool, huh?" She shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked out across the field and his eyes followed her gaze out to the Fenway green of the fence.

Ben didn't think it was cool, and he didn't think it was great and he didn't even think it was the best. He thought that it was... her. Everything in that field was _her_. An amalgamation of her soul, of her love, of her vision. "This is... you."

Ben's voice was quiet, barely audible over the crack of the plastic bat and the roar of the sizable crowd. He wanted to tell her how crazy he'd been when she'd been locked up, how surprised and frightened (and yes, okay, turned on, a lot) he was when she'd decked Lindsay, how _inspired_he was by how driven and selfless and perfect-for-him she was.

Ben wanted to tell her that she made him want to be a better person. But he didn't. He didn't say anything, instead waiting for her to speak. It was her day, after all.

"Thanks," she whispered back and turned to gaze at him, hand still over her eyes.

And that was it, the swelling in his chest, his throat tightening to near suffocation, the words tickled their way into his mouth, not about her passion or dedication or any of that but, "I love... this."

_This._

Her face blanked and she lowered her hand slowly between them, brushing against his wrist. "Yeah?"

His lips curved into a sure smile, his chin jutting up and out so that he was _really _looking at her. So that they were seeing each other in the warm spring sun, surrounded by Pawneeans. "Yeah."

The way she bashfully looked away, cheeks brightening, all he could think of was the sun in her hair and how perfectly he was sure his hand would fit around the back of her neck if he went in for a kiss, then and there.

But Leslie interjected, as she's wont to do, prolonging the moment, sweetening it, somehow. "Hey, you should stop by Sullivan's later. Meet Lindsay. The... real Lindsay."

Ben wasn't sure what any of this meant, but he was certain that it did, in fact, mean something. Something big. "Oh... kay?"

Leslie grinned at him, gave a quick tug on his wrist and then separated, stepping away. This was neither the time, nor the place for such blatant shows of affection but... there would be a time and a place. Someplace near and sometime soon, he could feel it in his bones. "I think she'll like you. I think she should... know... you."

Leslie swiveled her hand around his for a brief squeeze and even as she did, Ben fell impossibly harder.

"Will she remember my name?" he asked, his voice morphing into a lighthearted laugh.

Leslie elbowed him in the ribs as they made their way down the third base line. "Nah, she's a big faker, she already does."


End file.
